Ready, Scrap, Shoot (A Kiki Lowenstein Scrap-N-Craft Mystery)

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Dodie shot me a quizzical look. I shrugged, mouthing, “Beats me.”

  “Um, I’m Kiki Lowenstein.” I extended my hand toward the newcomer.

  “Of course you are,” Bleached Blondie said, handling my digits as if trying to avoid a contagious disease.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Why, Kiki, don’t you know who this is? I’ve been telling you about her. I’ve missed her so much!” Mom slipped a proprietary arm around the woman’s waist. The two shared a giggle.

  Bleached Blondie gave me a half-smile and narrowed her eyes. “Claudia. Claudia Turrow.”

  Fifty-seven

  “Okay, let’s call it a day,” I sang out, eager to leave our booth. In my experience, there are days that can’t be salvaged. Instead, it’s best to end them early, to call it quits and retreat, with hope for a good night’s sleep and the promise of a clean slate on the morrow. Forget knitting up the raveled sleeve of care. Toss the old mess and start anew.

  “Come on, Claudia,” said Mom. After roaming the grounds and sampling the other exhibits, Mom and her BFF commandeered the only two chairs we had in the booth, never offering to share or spell me. I stood for the next four hours, greeting shoppers and writing out sales tickets by hand. While I worked, they gossiped and giggled.

  “Claudia, where can I drop you off ?” I said as we walked toward my car.

  “She’s staying with me.” Mom swung an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

  “That would work if you had your own place, but since Linnea left,”—after you drove her away by insulting the poor woman—“Sheila’s stuck doing all the housework. I’m sure we can find a nice hotel for Claudia.”

  “Oh, no. I’m here for Luci. I couldn’t possibly leave her. She needs me. I don’t mind sharing a room with her. I’ll even sleep on a sofa if I have to. Or on the floor.” Claudia’s thin grin smacked of self-satisfaction. “We could even share a bed.”

  Ugh. Icky gross.

  “I’m so sorry, but that won’t work.” I smiled and in return received a frosty glare.

  The glint in Claudia’s eyes told me this was a standoff, but I wasn’t giving in. “Where can I drop you? There’s a lovely Drury Inn right down the street.”

  “She can stay in my room,” Mom said. “I don’t know why you are being so rude. Ever since that man shot at you—”

  “What? Oh, my darling Luci! Were you there? Are you all right?” Claudia threw both arms around my mother.

  Right on cue, Mom burst into sobs.

  Claudia continued over my mother’s caterwauling. “What if something had happened to you? I can’t bear to think about it. It must have been awful! My poor dear, brave, Luci!”

  “You can’t imagine. I was so scared! Bullets flying. People yelling. I lost my shoes!” Mom sobbed like a lost toddler. I stood off to the side, an interloper, watching this strange woman with the fresh-fried Day-Glo hair as she patted my mother’s back and murmured, “There, there. You poor baby.”

  Fifty-eight

  The ride to Sheila’s never seemed so long. Claudia and Mother huddled together in the back seat, whispering and exchanging secrets. After I parked the car, Claudia helped Mom out. “Kiki, I’ll need my bags,” Claudia sang out to me as she led my mother into Sheila’s house.

  I fumed but decided I had no choice but to play the role of bell captain.

  “I’m starving,” said my mother, while watching me struggle to carry her two suitcases into the house. I’d just crossed the threshold when Claudia let go of Sheila’s heavy front door. It walloped me a good one, bruising my elbows.

  “So am I,” said Claudia. “In fact, I’m famished. They don’t feed you on the plane. I was in such a hurry to see you that I didn’t stop to eat after we landed.” She paused and looked around. “Nice place you’ve got here. I guess I’d better change if we’re going out to eat.”

  I bit my tongue. “We won’t be eating out.”

  “But I’m hungry!” Mom’s voice climbed a notch higher. “So is Claudia.”

  My own stomach rumbled. Gracie looked at me and whimpered, so I let her outside and put down kibble. Both women stared at me expectantly. I’d been on my feet all day, but they climbed onto Sheila’s kitchen stools, propped their elbows on the counter, and started yakking.

  I gave in. Sheila kept a well-stocked pantry, so I found a can of tuna fish, another of peas, a can of cream of mushroom soup, and a box of macaroni and cheese. I didn’t ask if they liked tuna noodle casserole. I simply put the water on the stove to boil and went upstairs to change out of my work clothes. My waistband dug into my skin, leaving an angry red mark. Peeling out of the slacks and blouse, I slipped into a hot shower. That buggy feeling from my ride in the squad car was still with me. Soaping up felt good. In fact, I toyed with the idea of staying under the water until it turned cold, but in the end, I figured my mother would come hunting for me.

  When I got back to the kitchen, I saw that Mom and Claudia had moved from the kitchen stools to the plush overstuffed sofa in Sheila’s living room. Claudia maintained a clear view of the kitchen from her seat.

  “Don’t you have anything we could nibble on? Cheese and crackers? Some brie perhaps? Or a hunk of Wensleydale? A glass of wine? I’d like a nice merlot,” Claudia called to me. “Luci would like one, too. Please make sure it’s a good bottle. Cheap wine gives us both a headache.”

  While I rummaged in Sheila’s cupboard and refrigerator, I comforted myself by playing the “good news/bad news” game. The good news was that I knew exactly where Claudia was. She hadn’t moved in with Mom, so she didn’t have access to Mom’s family treasures, such as they were. Or to Mom’s meager bank account. The bad news was that I now was dealing with both Mom and Claudia, or to be more precise, I was now relegated to the role of household help for two imperious—and hungry—divas.

  If I’d had more energy, I might have stiffened my backbone. If I hadn’t been worrying about Bill Ballard, I might have shooed Claudia away and told her to stay away. Admittedly, Claudia had a calming effect on Mom, and right now was a bad time for me to cope with one of Mom’s meltdowns. We had too much at risk.

  First I’d deal with Bill Ballard, then I’d handle Ms. Claudia Turrow.

  Fifty-nine

  While I put together a plate of cheese and crackers, I phoned Robbie Holmes to tell him about the havoc Brenda had wreaked on our booth. “Robbie, I’m worried that she’s following me. What if she gets in the middle of this thing with Bill?”

  Robbie sighed. “Look, I’d like to help, but you girls will have to settle this quarrel yourselves.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He made it sound like a high school spat over who we sat next to in the cafeteria.

  “You do know that Brenda’s dad is an important politician over in Illinois, don’t you?” Robbie asked.

  No, I didn’t.

  “He’s all over Chad’s parents about the divorce. I guess he’s really steamed.”

  Great. Could things get any better? I wasn’t even officially involved with their son and the Detweilers already had reason to dislike me.

  “Just … just deal with it, Kiki,” Robbie said. “We’re close to wrapping this up. Bill and Johnny made contact last night. Bill actually went looking for Johnny because he heard about the spat you had at Faust Park. Lucky for us, Johnny’s been hanging out at the same bar every night, so he was easy enough for Bill to find.”

  He paused and spoke in a low tone, “Bill wants Johnny to ‘grab’ you from the store.”

  “What do I need to do?”

  “Nothing. It’s best that you be surprised. Johnny will pretend to kidnap you, probably on a night when you work late. He’ll drive you to a designated spot under a viaduct, and swap you out for a female officer who is about your size.”

  “But how about Johnny? Will he be safe? I mean, what if Bill pulls a gun on him?” I knew that as a condition of parole, Johnny couldn’t have a firearm in his
possession.

  “Johnny knew the risks going in. Look, there’s a GPS tracking device under Johnny’s truck and under his sister Mert’s truck as well. Even if Johnny switches out vehicles, we’ll be monitoring his route. We should be able to protect him.”

  Should be able to protect him? That sounded awfully iffy to me. I could just imagine Mert discovering she’d been bugged. She’d be furious. She hated the Patriot Act, or the “Spy on Your Friends” Act, as she called it.

  “We set a similar trap for the South County rapist. Learned a lot from that operation. Caught the guy. Sent him away. He’s serving three consecutive lifetimes.”

  Thinking about all the ways that Robbie’s trap could go wrong sent shivers down my spine.

  Claudia stuck her head in the kitchen and interrupted my conversation. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. Your mom’s really hungry. We’re both thirsty.”

  I told Robbie goodbye and turned to face Claudia. “We’re all out of wine.”

  “Really? I should think that anyone living in a nice place like this would have a bottle or two stashed away,” she walked over to the cutlery drawer and fingered Sheila’s silver. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  So Claudia thought this was my home. Hmmm.

  “Well, I’ll go keep Luci company. I hope you don’t take long. Your mother’s hungry.”

  I put a circle of brie on a plate, spooned apricot jam over the top, sprinkled it with sliced almonds, and stuck everything in the microwave for about sixty seconds. I poured two glasses of iced tea and put everything on one of Sheila’s handsome walnut trays. Balancing the food carefully, I carried it out to the low table where Claudia and Mom were sitting.

  Neither woman thanked me. Claudia smirked up at me and said, “I thought maybe you got lost or something.”

  I bit my tongue.

  Back in the kitchen, I grabbed my cell phone. Before I could think about what I was doing, I called Mert. After all, she was my “go to” friend, my confidant.

  Just as quickly, I realized what I was doing and pressed “End Call.” I stared at the silent phone. I sure missed talking with her. Over the years, I’d grown to rely on her wisdom and her straight-forward common sense. She, more than anyone, had taught me to stand up for myself.

  I wanted to talk to my friend, but I couldn’t. I wanted to call Detweiler, but I couldn’t. I thought about Dodie … and Clancy …

  and realized I was in this alone.

  As I chopped onions and celery for dinner, I played Dr. Phil’s logic in my head. If I forced Claudia to leave now, Amanda might have to deal with the woman later on Mom’s home turf. If I let Claudia hang around, she could be Mom’s play buddy. She would keep Mom occupied.

  That was good.

  Really good.

  I couldn’t take the chance of Mom getting involved in our scheme to trap Bill Ballard.

  Sheila and Anya pulled into the drive, so I raced out to meet them and to explain who Claudia was. I finished with, “It’s best that we don’t make a big production about the fact that this is Sheila’s house. At least for a while. I don’t want Claudia to feel uncomfortable. I think Mom likes having a friend around. Anya, can you play along?”

  “Sure,” said my daughter.

  My mother-in-law rolled her eyes. “Anything to keep your mother out of my hair.”

  “You okay, sweetheart?” I gave Anya a hug.

  “Yeah, whatever,” she said as she started walking toward the house.

  Sixty

  Friday, May 7

  “Just you and me, babe,” I rubbed Gracie’s ears, as we walked into the empty store. At nine o’clock, I phoned CALA and learned that Lane was still under the weather. That meant I had the entire weekend to finish up the Edwina Fitzgerald album. I spent the morning getting ready for our Friday night crop.

  At noon, Margit started her shift. “How you doing with the cash register?” I asked.

  “You are a good teacher, Kick-ee.” She rewarded me with a happy smile. “I cooked sauerbraten last night. I always make too much, so I brought enough to share.”

  I took one bite of the plate she offered me and my taste buds danced a happy jig. “Wow! This is great! And these potatoes, they’re just scrumptious. What’s this in the green beans?”

  “Spaetzle. German dumplings.” Margit’s face glowed. “I sprinkled it with dried parsley, too.” She made herself a plate and we sat happily, side by side, eating.

  “Why did you want to own part of a scrapbook store? I mean, you don’t scrapbook, do you? You’re obviously a great cook, but do you like crafts?”

  “Ja, I like knitting and crochet. I make cards. I’ll show you.” She reached into an oilcloth bag and extracted a plastic folder. From this, she withdrew colorful, magical cards, the likes of which I’d never seen before.

  “What do you call this?”

  “It is iris eye folding. You begin with an aperture, then you fill the space with pieces of paper that overlap in a pleasing pattern. It began in Holland, using the brightly colored lining of envelopes.”

  I turned the cards over and over in my hands. “These are fabulous, and I mean it. Could you teach a class in this?”

  We put our heads together and designed a project for that very evening. Clancy called a couple of times to report her sales at Faust Park and ask for more merchandise. I put together a box of products to take to our booth. “How’s your mother?” I asked.

  “Right now, she’s still in the hospital. It’s awful, Kiki, really bad.”

  “You mean her break? Was it her arm or her leg or both?”

  “The broken arm will heal. Luckily her ankle is only sprained.”

  “That’s not too bad, is it? I mean, it could have been a lot worse.”

  Clancy said nothing for a beat, then blurted, “The doctor says her equilibrium is compromised. So is her mobility. She can’t move back into her own home. And she’s insisting on living with me!”

  I felt Clancy’s pain. Her voice, usually so cultured and precise, was blurred with emotion. “I’m so upset that I can’t talk about it now. How’s it going for you? Dodie told me about Brenda trashing our booth.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty bad.”

  “Dodie thinks you should get a restraining order.”

  “Um, I’ll consider it.” But I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to make the situation worse than it was.

  After I hung up, I turned around to find Margit staring at me thoughtfully. I could tell by the look on her face that she’d been listening in. “If you don’t get back to trouble, trouble will have kittens,” she said.

  “Is that an old German saying?”

  “Nein. It’s something my husband used to say when he was in sales. Ja, some problems go away, but others, you have to escort them out of your life.”

  Margit’s iris eye folding project

  This is the perfect way to use up strips of paper or paper with patterns that are no longer appealing. Margit suggests you start with a negative space (a hole) shaped like a square or a diamond. When you add in the strips, place them in opposite corners and work to fill the center. By the way, real iris eye folding does involve folding paper, but layering strips is just as cute and as much fun.

  1. Punch or cut a simple shape out of the center of a piece of cardstock, leaving a border of at least two inches all around the hole. Tip: Use a die cut machine or an “anywhere” punch to make this aperture.

  2. Cut strips of paper no more than ½ inch wide and 12 inches long.

  3. Starting at the outside edges, layer strips of paper, overlapping each strip until you have filled in the space. As you lay down a strip, tape the edges down on the backside. Tip: Move from outside corners inward. You are building a pattern with the strips of paper.

  4. Tape all the strips down on the back. Trim as necessary.

  Sixty-one

  I planned to run home only long enough to light the Shabbas candles with Sheila and Anya. I also expected Mom to join us as we prayed
. Despite the fact I’d been raised Episcopalian, my mother always showed a keen interest in other religions. She particularly felt reverence toward Judaism, in part because our family priest bragged about his own Jewish son-in-law, “He’s a better Christian than most who claim the title. The Jews are, after all, God’s Chosen people.”

  I left my car in the driveway and raced in through the front door. Sheila and Anya stood at the dining room table. The silver candlesticks glowed in the waning sunlight. As always, Sheila’s house was fragrant with the smell of baking challah. A still-hot loaf took pride of place on a special plate in the center. A decanter of merlot sat to one side, along with two glasses of wine and a glass of grape juice for Anya. Mom was nowhere in sight.

  “I’ll get Mom,” I offered.

  “Don’t bother,” said Sheila.

  “What?”

  “She’s not coming,” said Anya, in that sort of bored voice that teens do so well.

  “Is she not feeling well?”

  “She’s fine.” Sheila’s tightly crossed arms matched the tense expression on her face. “Except for dropping a bottle of pills all over the floor.”

  “What?”

  “Your mother’s hands shake. Claudia explained she couldn’t possibly get down on her hands and knees because she has a bad back. So I’ve been all over the floor chasing down pills.”

  “Yeah, Mom, Claudia wouldn’t even help!” said Anya in a stage whisper. “And you know that Gran’s knees bother her.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheila. Really I am.”

  “Not your fault. Let’s get on with our Sabbath,” said Sheila, handing a match to Anya.

  We thanked God for the light, for fruit of the vine, and for bread. Gracie sat obediently at Anya’s side, knowing that she, too, would receive a portion of the challah to ensure a blessed week. Anya gave a piece to the dog and promptly disappeared up the stairs, giving her bedroom door a mighty slam shut.